


Control Thy Name Is

by SuperSillyAndDorky06



Series: The Al Sah-Him Collection [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Al Sah-him, Angst, Angst and Feels, Bondage, Control, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Identity Issues, Identity Porn, Jealousy, Light Bondage, Multiple Orgasms, Nanda Parbat, Orgasm, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rope Bondage, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3840916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperSillyAndDorky06/pseuds/SuperSillyAndDorky06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Al Sah-Him. Oliver Queen. Nanda Parbat. <br/>Felicity Smoak. Orgasm Denial. Mild Bondage. <br/>Identity Issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this work contains orgasm denial and bondage. You have been warned. And Al Sah-Him being an ass and being so jealous.
> 
> Numerous Twitter conversations and Tumblr prompts combined together in my head and this was born. I hope it doesn't totally suck since it's the first time I've written something like this. 
> 
> Drop me a line. Let me know. 
> 
> Happy reading!!!

"Fuck you."

Her venom in her voice amused him more than it grated. 

He looked upon her as she lay on the bed, looking around at the chamber with slight disappointment in her eyes. It was that obvious disappointment that made his blood boil slowly. The room was not red anymore but a dark slate grey and brown. The bed was different too. It wasn’t that old, big bed that Oliver Queen had touched her on, made slow passionate love to her on, seen her in ways that he wanted to see her on. 

No. This bed was like him. Cold. Hard. Brutal. Metallic. And she lay on it, her wrists bound by ropes to the metal rods in the head board, her body still encased in her bright peach dress. The color did not belong here. Neither did she. But he wanted her.

“I know you are still there, Oliver.”

Her voice came out firm and that firmness grated on his nerves.

“I’m not Oliver Queen. Do not call me that again.”

He saw her eyes narrow, despite being tied up and at his mercy, she was not afraid. She was a beautiful woman, with a fire inside her that he wanted to tame, to taste, to purge his skin with. And that is why he hated Oliver Queen so much. That man had touched her without having to tie her up, tasted her without her retorting, heard her moans without her curses. He despised Oliver Queen. And he was going to make her beg for him. _Him._ She was going to scream for _him._ She was going to come for _him._ She was going to be his. Only _his._ Not a weak memory’s. 

“I’ll call you whatever the hell I want!” 

Her defiance radiated from the flush in her skin and it made his palms itch, his mind whir with how he was going to contain this wildfire on the bed. The room was lit with only two lamps, allowing him the darkness he liked and just the tiny sliver of light for him to see her. Without further ado, he slipped on the bed, caging her hips with his knees and watched her eyes widen. She wouldn’t have had thought that a summon from him would result in this. His lips curled triumphantly. 

“You are Oliver. I know it in my bones. I know….”

He stopped her tirade by clutching the fabric of her dress in his hands and ripping the cloth straight down the middle in one go, right from the neck. Her gasp of surprise delighted him, and her flushed exposed skin made him harden under his robes. Pulling off all the scraps of fabrics away from her beautiful body in a breath, throwing them over his shoulders, he finally had her naked under him, her breasts thrust upwards due to the position of her tied up hands. 

He skated his fingers down to the rapidly hardening buds, pulling sharply and making her hips thrust upwards, seeking friction. Oh no. First he was going to exorcise Oliver Queen from her memory, so that every touch she remembered would be his and his only, and every time she closed her eyes it would be him who made her wet. Not Oliver Queen, whose one night with her was etched into her bones. No. He would brand her with his own name tonight. Till she would beg. Till her need for him would surpass all. 

Moving out of the bed, he slowly picked up the small cloth from the small assortment of tools he had requested, to break her down. Oh, this would be similar to torture, but of a completely different kind. But then he put the blindfold back down. No. He wanted her to keep her eyes open. To see him and not fantasize about another man while he worked on her body.

Picking up the lightest of all tools, a large feather, he walked back to the bed and disrobed himself, following her eyes as her gaze traced his body, his lethal muscles, his scars. The body that had once belonged to Oliver Queen. Not anymore, though. It was his own creation now, his own weeks of back breaking hard work. And he could see the appreciation for the changes in his body right in her gaze. He saw the heat enter her eyes before she furiously tamped it back down. But he had seen it. 

With excruciating slowness, he sat beside her on the bed, and ran the feather over her neck, going over the slope of her breast and then to her nipple. It elongated and she exhaled loudly. “Oliver?”

His hand stopped, the feather hovering over that painfully hard bud, and he looked down at her. “I’m Al Sah-Him, Felicity Smoak. Stop calling me Oliver.”

Her chest heaved up, seeking the feather and the contact, as she countered breathlessly. “Then why do you say my name like he did?”

No he did not. Everything about him was different from Oliver Queen.

Knowing completely the extent of the intimacies that man had with this woman, knowing exactly how well he had discovered her erogenous spots, how slowly he had made love to her, how quickly he had taken her to her peak, repeatedly over the course of the night just made the hate inside him swirl to a whole new level. He took a deep breath to calm him mind down. Oliver Queen did not matter anymore. Now it was he who had her, he who would take her to those peaks, his name that she would chant in her throes of passion.

Satisfied at the thought, he did not reply but slowly swirled the feather around her breast, circling it wide around the nipple, over and over and coming closer to the target in each circle, floating it tighter and tighter and closer to that perpetually hard, deep pink bud. The moment the feather was about to touch it, he scanted it over back outside and started all over again.

She mewled in protest, opening her eyes to pin him with her clear, blue gaze and he just returned it, keeping the feather so close, but so far from what she sought. The scent of her arousal was slowly filling the room and he could see her pressing her legs together to get some relief. Oh no. There wouldn't be any relief for her till she only remembered him.

"Oliver, please."

Wordlessly, knowing that correcting her was fruitless and that he would have to show her, he just switched to the other breast, starting the same torture all over again, circling and coming closer to her nipple with each circle but not actually letting the feather touch it. She was panting softly now, her eyes fevered and her arms trembling from the strain she was putting on them, both her nipples an angry red now. Taking mercy, he trailed the feather down her ribs and her stomach, watching in fascination as her hips arched of their own accord, and her legs spread, giving him the permission to go down further.

But she did not understand. This was not about him. This was not even about Oliver Queen. This was about her, and her acknowledgment, and her memories and they had to go, for him to have space in them. Him and Oliver Queen could not exist together, they could not survive together.

He looked at her spread legs, knowing exactly the way Oliver Queen had lowered his mouth and tasted her, knowing exactly the way she had moaned, and he grit his teeth, trailing the feather just around her hips and navel and not going below at all. She was huffing in frustration and mewling even more.

"Oliver."

No. He was not him. And he would not pleasure her while she called out another man's name in his bed. He was going to have to prove it to her another way then.

Putting the feather aside, he sat down on his knees and leaned forward, gripping her thighs in his large hands and opening them wide to his gaze, looking at her glistening folds, at the evidence of her arousal. He rubbed his stubble against her inner thighs, letting his breath ghost over her wetness, and heard the loud gasp that came from her. Smiling, he blew on her and heard her stuttering. She was so responsive. He paused, letting her wait, letting her anticipate and after a few heartbeats, he leaned forward and licked a stripe over her, her loud cry echoing in the room. She was so wet, and that pleased him. It was his doing. Just his.

"Oh, Oliver."

Her words were like ice in his veins, curing him of that notion in a beat. She was still thinking of that man, still imagining him doing that to her. No, that wouldn't do. Knowing what he was going to do now, he buried his mouth in her heat, tasting her wetness on his tongue, attacking her like only he could and not the other man. Oliver Queen had been slow and soft tasting her. _He_ was not. He was hard and quick and brutal in his assault and she was thrusting up into him, writhing on the bed in abandon like she hadn't for Oliver Queen. Good.  

Her thighs were shaking in his hands, her entire body quivering as he ate her out, and he knew she was very close to exploding into stars. Oliver Queen would have worked harder to let her. _He_ pulled back abruptly, getting off the bed, leaving her wide-eyed and panting.

"What the hell?"

He walked around to the table, letting her come down from that high, letting her over-heated skin cool a little, as he opened up the ice bucket and took it back to the bed, watching her frustrated eyes latch onto the small bucket before locking with his. She swallowed, her naked body still keeping him hard and aroused, the flush on her skin absolutely sinful.

Putting the bucket aside, he picked up a cube of ice, touching it to her lips, trailing it around her mouth, leaving it wet and cool. He leaned in and flicked at her lips with his tongue, delighting when her tongue came out but he pulled back, not kissing her, not yet. She chased after his mouth but he didn't let her, instead slipping the cube down her neck, seeing it leave a wet trail on her hot skin, over to her breasts. The moment he touched it to her nipple, a moan escaped her lips, her eyes closing and he rubbed it there, over and over, till she was chewing on her lip and gasping. 

"Look at me," he demanded and her eyes opened, clashing with his. He took another cube from the bucket and rubbed it around her other nipple, circling it like he did with the feather, keeping his eyes locked on hers. With one hand free, he picked up another cube and dipped it over her navel. She almost closed her eyes again, panting now, but he stopped and her gaze locked back on his. He started again. 

One cube assaulting her breasts, the other cube trailed down to her core and he rubbed it against her clit, the intense sensation it spiked making her cry out loudly and grip the metal rods above her hands, her knuckles turning white. 

"Oliver, oh god. Oliver, yes that feels so good."

His jaw clenched and he rubbed the melting ice into her furiously, attacking her senses over and over and over again and saw her eyes clench shut and her hips work furiously into his hand, her body right on the precipice of falling, shaking everywhere, her mouth opening in a silent moan, and he stopped. Pulled back. Again. And walked back to the table.

"God, damn it. Fuck you, Oliver. Fuck you so much! How dare you do this to me!"

Her screams and curses reached him but did not deter him in the slightest. He looked back at her, the anger on her face making her chest heave and her body beautiful in its wrath.

"I told you. I am not Oliver."

Her brow furrowed at his words, and she looked back stunned. "Are you seriously doing this because I chose to call you by your name and not your alter ego?"

At his silence, a laugh bubbled out of her. "This is seriously the craziest form of third person talk I've heard, and I've heard some crazy. I told you once that I knew who you were no matter what you wore. So, just because you cannot figure out whether to wear a green hood or be a black ninja, you take that out on my body? I told you I love you. The Arrow you. The Oliver you. Even the Al Sah-Him you, god help me. That's the only reason I'm tied up and naked on your bed."

He just blinked back at her solemnly, shrugging. But he was burning on the inside. Al Sah-Him was not a part. He was the whole. And Oliver Queen was gone. "Call me by my name."

Felicity shook her head. "This is the weirdest role-play thing, ever. So, basically, I call you Al Sah-Him and you give me my orgasm?"

He nodded, relieved that she was getting it.

She smirked. "Even when I know you are Oliver and going through a crazy coming-of-age phase, only identity vise, and I still love you for that?"

It was suddenly too much. Her defiance was too much. Her refusal to accept was too much.

He crossed the distance between them and gripped her head, latching her mouth to his and kissing her like he knew she had never been kissed, plunging his tongue into her mouth, biting and thrusting and nipping, swallowing her moans and mewls. He pulled back after seconds, looking down into her dazed face and she smiled back at him. "Yup. Still Oliver. No bullshitting me around."

"I'll just keep up with this," he warned her, completely serious.

She raised her eyebrows in challenge. "I know, Oliver. You can be stubborn, I'm well aware."

Well, that was her answer, and it was clear to him. Walking to the table, he picked up a bottle of chocolate syrup, knowing this time he was going to use the body she thought was Oliver Queen's to break her.

She saw the bottle in his hand and her eyes widened, her pulse fluttering in her neck. He poured it over her breasts and leaned down, flicking at her.

"Oliver," she moaned, thrusting her hips up into him.

They started that dance all over again.

And Oliver Queen never really left. 


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Anonymous said: I've seen so many fics where Felicity refuses to call Oliver Al Sah-Him and somehow brings "Oliver Queen" back. You should do a fic where after Felicity is forced to marry Oliver( who's still evil and very much obsessed with her) she finally caves into his demands/seduction and calls him "Al Sah- Him". And then he promptly LOSES IT. Super hot smut ensues, like srsly so hot that ra's would need to come and dump water on them (but not literally ofc, you can't interrupt olicity sexy times!)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also numerous Twitter conversations for a continuation and Felicity in handcuffs inspired this. The first one had orgasm denial and bondage and so does this to an extent. Consider yourself warned. I hope you enjoy this! Here goes nothing.
> 
> Drop me a line! :)
> 
> Happy reading!!!

It had been two days. 

Two days since his body had been in a continuous state of arousal, two days since she had kept up the fight, two nights since she had refused to give in. Last night had been particularly nasty, and she had sobbed when he had teased her body like an expert, but she hadn't given in. And he had had just about enough. Seeing her so aroused, just on the precipice had chafed at his control, made the ache in his groin almost permanent, the need for release so intense he dithered on his mission. What she didn't realize was that he might be torturing her body for pleasure but she tortured something inside him deep to the bones by refusing to let go of Oliver Queen, hanging onto his memory like the only anchor and he was getting tired, and angrier than he had ever been.

Oliver Queen had to leave and he was done humoring her.

He entered the bedroom, the bleak dark bedroom he knew she hated for her captivity here, but captive she would be till he had her, over and over again, till the hunger gnawing at him was sated.

She sat on the carpet, wearing a satin robe and beside the bed, like he had left her. Her eyes turned to him as he locked the door and started undressing, those molten blue eyes moving over his body, just as hungry as he was.  

"So," she began, already untying her sash and dropping the robe from her shoulders, standing naked, and so beautiful, right in front of him. There was no shame in her eyes and he was proud to see that. Shame was pointless anyway. He knew every crevice and curve of her body by now, better than she did, better than Oliver Queen ever had.

"What is it going to be today? Whips?"

Her taunt cut him but he remained stoic, tilting his head, dropping away the last piece of fabric from his body. "I only want to give you pleasure. You deny yourself."

"Do I?" she challenged, and he took steps towards her, his eyes scanning the little red marks his mouth had left on her skin, marks that she had enjoyed him leaving, marks that made her his. 

He brushed her hair back, feeling the soft strands sift through his fingers, not replying to her challenging tone, knowing she wanted to push him to break.

He slowly pushed her down to the bed, and she looked up at him with uncertain eyes, waiting to see what he would so. He had realized, on his way over to the chamber, that the only way to eradicate Oliver Queen from her heart was to imprint himself on it. And to do that, he had to go slow with her, lull her softly. His primal ways had not worked. His seduction would. Oliver Queen would be gone. The only name she would scream would be  _his_. Only  _his._

He picked up two pair of handcuffs from the floor and saw her raise a brow in challenge. Her defiance used to anger him. Now, that anger was a burn, constantly present. Now, her defiance made his own will resolute to prove himself. Her defiance heated his blood even more, made her even more desirable than she already was to him.

Without a word, he moved around to the foot of the bed, and cuffed each long leg to a bedpost, tying her arms with the same ropes he had used the last time over the metal rails on the headboard. When he was done, he stood back and looked. She was spread open completely to his gaze, her soft, sweet scent rising up to his nose, the animal in him rearing his ugly head to claim her. Not yet.

Over the two days, he had done a lot, used a lot of tools on her, from ice to sugary syrups to vibrators, to break her but she hadn't. But he had never spread her like he had now, completely and unabashedly, and he knew that this time she would be unable to contain the pleasure inside her own body, yet she'd have to absorb it for she could not move.

Eyes locked on hers, he started at the bottom of her leg, planting soft kisses on her smooth skin, loving the way it felt beneath his lips, moving up and up and up to her inner thigh. Her skin was so much softer there, her scent so much stronger, so tempting. He brushed his roughened cheek against her skin, biting her thigh, right beside her nether lips, and she moaned, her legs straining but unable to move.

He pulled back and started the same routine over her other leg, just kissing and brushing his lips against her skin till he reached the inner thigh and bit, and she moaned louder than before, again. Heat was running through his veins, the need to consume her overwhelming. But he would have her acknowledge him before plunging into her. Her nipples, her angry red, sore nipples, were peaked to attention, beckoning him forward. He leaned down and just touched the pebbled muscle with his tongue, and she hissed, her body squirming, needing a release only he could give, not Oliver Queen.

Triumphant at her response, feeling how close she was to breaking, he took her breast in her mouth and suckled, hard. Her hips arched completely off the bed and she cried out loud, her muscles straining.

"Oliver..."

Pulling back, he grit his teeth, the anger at her stubbornness, the rage at Oliver Queen, whipping like a storm through him. With a sardonic twist to his lips, he looked in her eyes, watching them narrow in contemplation, before a smile graced her mouth, lighting up her face. And though she looked breath-taking, the smile confounded him. Why was she smiling?

His watched her, deliberately keeping his face blank as she grinned completely, throwing him for a loop.

"Al Sah-Him."

Her lustful, low voice reached his ears, and every muscle in his body stilled.

"Al Sah-Him," she said again.

A plethora of emotions attacked him, the most dominant of them being a rage unlike any he had ever felt. He leaned down and gripped her chin, burning on the inside in a way he hadn't before.

She smirked. "That's who you are right? Al Sah-Him. I'll say it. Al Sah-Him. Al Sah-Him. Al Sah-Him."

He couldn't hear it anymore. With a shout, he slanted his mouth over hers, drowning her words inside, his tongue battling her for a kind of domination he was unfamiliar with. His body shook with rage, at her, at himself. How dared she call him Al Sah-Him?

She bit on his lip and he traced his finger over her core, her folds already so wet and coating him. Without any heed, he plunged two inside her, swallowing back her sharp moan completely, pumping furiously, curling his fingers, her body writhing over the bed with abandon. After a minute, he pulled away, both his mouth and his fingers, unable to sate the storm inside him that her words had ignited, unable to understand this dual hatred he was feeling for both Oliver Queen and Al Sah-Him.

Clenching his jaw, he walked up and around, listening to her heavy breathing.

"Which name do you want me to scream for you? Oliver? Ollie? The Arrow? Al Sah-Him? Or is there another one I don't know about?"

Her soft, sex-induced voice compelled his eyes back to her prone body, her words grating on his frazzled nerves.

She was smiling again, like she had won something. "Well, since you spent last two days convincing me for Al Sah-Him, I'll go with that one. So, Al Sah-Him, stop teasing me and come to bed. Fuck my brains out if you will or make sweet love to me. I don't care. I want you."

His hands clenched into tight fists, her words angering him more than soothing him? Why wasn't he going to her? When she had finally relented? Oliver Queen was gone finally and that made him angrier than when he wasn't gone. She had forgotten Oliver Queen. She had  _forgotten_  Oliver Queen. and that felt like the worst kind of betrayal.

How the fuck could she have forgotten Oliver Queen?

How the fuck could she have not forgotten him sooner?

Unable to contain it any longer, he threw a vase on the table sharply against the wall, shattering it into a million pieces, but yet it did nothing to appease him. The battle inside him was raging like a thunderstorm, destroying him slowly from the inside, but he reined it in, hardening his heart.

With purposeful determination, he walked back over the edge of the bed, watching her eyes widen slightly at the thunderous look on his face, and sat between her legs, having had just enough.

Without giving her a second to breathe, he lined himself up against her and plunged inside with one go, burying himself to the hilt, her garbled scream at the sudden penetration echoing around the room. His eyes closed in relief at finally feeling her muscles clamp around him, finally feeling her wet, warm sheath take in his length, before that fire inside him burned again and he was pulling out and thrusting back in sharply, the hit making her clutch at the metal head rails, her head tilted back in the pleasure that had been building up in her for two days but never released. Oh, he would release it. He would unleash it, over and over and over again till she was incoherent to speak any name at all. He was going to exorcise names from her head. He was going to only make her  _feel_  him,  _him,_  as he pounded into her. 

Placing one hand under her hips, he tilted it up while thrusting down, the sudden change in angle hitting her deeper. She panted, her breasts jiggling with his every hit inside her, and he gripped her chin with the other, making her look at him, see him while he moved over her. 

She grinned slightly. "Al Sah-Him."

With a cry straight from his gut, he pushed in harder and faster than before, moving now to exorcise names not only from her mind, but his as well. He pounded into her, chasing away those names, his anger driving him harder and faster and almost mechanically, her clutching muscles weeping over his cock as her entire body strained, her cries becoming incoherent and drool coming out of her mouth as he pistoned his pelvis into hers.

"Absorb it, Felicity," he growled, that name the only one that made any sense anymore. "Absorb it."

Her entire body was shaking beneath him now, her walls quivering and working his cock like mad, as he roughly fucked and fucked her into oblivion. With a scream torn from deep in her throat, she shattered around him, her hips almost lifting him as she met him thrust for thrust, her muscles straining but unable to move as he still moved around her clamping inner walls. Her head was tilted way back into her pillow, the long line of her neck exposed and her breasts heaving and moving as he still kept thrusting into her, her climax not really attaining any completion. She was whining now, her mouth trembling but he still couldn't come, still couldn't let go, not till she took it back, till she could not remember any of names, only him. 

He flexed his hips, tightening his buttocks to penetrate her repeatedly and she was shaking her head, shouting gibberish, exploding again but yet again absorbing it, completely unable to move.

"Please," she begged, her eyes clenched shut. "Please, please, please."

Without stopping to move, he ground out. "What?"

"Untie me," she opened her eyes, tears leaking from the over-stimulation of her body. "Please untie me. I need to hold you. Please." 

With a grunt, he leaned over her, untying her hands and immediately felt her soft, small hands on his neck, pulling his mouth down, twining her tongue with his and his movements got more erratic, his thrusts wilder, almost like a machine that had no intent of stopping. Her nails dug into his chest as she tried to tilt her legs again to no avail, her breasts pressing into him, uttering "Not again" over and over in his ears. 

She came again, and this time her mouth just remained open in a silent scream, her entire body arching completely off the bed, her muscles clamping on him so hard that he felt the tingle in his spine become an inferno and exploded with a shout, inside her, still moving over her, the scent of their sweat and sex mingling together around them, the sound of their heavy breathing the only sound to be heard as he stopped. 

He did not understand anything anymore. He did not understand what he was doing anymore. He did not understand who he was anymore. 

He did not realize when his body had started shaking, small sobs escaping him as he stayed buried inside her still trembling body, breathing against her neck. He felt her small, gentle hands, so unlike his rough ones, softly card over his neck, pressing him deeper into her used and abused body, and the tight thread that had been holding him snapped. 

Before he knew it, he was heaving against her, sobs wracking his entire body, his tears trailing down her neck as he let go and cried with her arms wrapped around him.

She did not shush him, did not say anything, just rubbed his scarred naked back and let him cry, her own body shaking against his.

"I'm Al Sah-Him," he muttered against her, his anger yet not leaving him. He had been so so angry for so so long. For what? "I was Oliver Queen. Who am I, Felicity? Who am I?"

He sobbed into her neck, not willing to see her eyes, not knowing what he would find, for which him. 

"You are who I love," she whispered gently against his ear, her breath ghosting over his skin. "I told you once and I'll say it again. I love every part of you. Every you."

He pulled back and looked down at her face, her swollen mouth, the beard burn on her chin, and slowly felt himself harden again, in both ways. 

"I'm Al Sah-Him," he stated firmly, watching her.

A small smile curved her mouth. "Yes, you are, but that does not mean you can't be Oliver Queen too."

He pulled out from her, watching her face twist in pleasure as it shot through his spine, and uncuffed her legs one by one, rubbing them as she finally moved them.

"I'm only Al Sah-Him, now. Oliver Queen is gone."

She raised her eyebrows at him, a small chuckle escaping her. "Although this feels like the weirdest and the hottest role-play ever, we both know that is not true. You are Oliver."

"Then why did you call me Al Sah-Him?" He needed to know. He was burning to know.

She grinned. "Because I did not want to die of sexual frustration and that was the only way I knew you would snap."

He stared at her for a while, before a feeling of amusement and aggravation washed over him. "Don't do it again."

"But Oliver Queen is gone, isn't he?"

He was gripping her head and tilting it back before her taunt was complete, the fire starting to burn through his veins again, but not knowing what to say, his own conflict angering him.

He plundered her mouth again in a bruising kiss, losing the conflict the only way he knew how, roughly, like Al Sah-Him did.

They started that dance all over again.

And Oliver Queen never really left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say Hi to me on
> 
> TUMBLR : [supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com](http://supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com/)  
> TWITTER : [@dorky06](http://twitter.com/Dorky06/)

**Author's Note:**

> So what did you think?
> 
> Come say hi to me on 
> 
> TUMBLR : _supersillyanddorky06.tumblr.com_  
>  TWITTER : _@dorky06_


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